Gift of God: Lady Godiva - Chapter 21

“I’ve seen that Madam a few times—she must be incredible. Don’t you think?”

Greg seized Tom by the collar.

“Tom, shut your mouth!”

“Why? You want to see her too. Don’t act pure.”

“You bastard!”

“Be honest! You’re turned on, aren’t you?”

What use was grabbing his collar? Greg’s grip suddenly loosened, and he let go. Damn it all—his despicable friend wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Anyway, don’t open the window.”

“Tch. That’s up to me.”

Like the vain tailor he was, Tom first smoothed his clothes. He shook out the wrinkles in his tunic and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

“If you peek, you’ll be killed by the townsfolk before the lord ever gets to you.”

“Hah! You think those cowards would dare look? I could throw the door wide open and not one of them would notice. Idiots.”

Tom openly mocked the people of Coventry. A noble lady stripping herself bare for the sake of serfs—it was absurd to him. And the serfs and market traders hiding like moles in their homes out of gratitude? He could hardly contain his laughter.

“Come on. I’m not going to tackle her. Might as well enjoy the view.”

“You—!”

“Greg, get over here. Isn’t this the best vantage point?”

Every crude word from Tom fueled Greg’s anger. But it also stirred something darker within him.

Thunk.

With the deft fingers of a man who handled needles for a living, he rested his hand on the window frame.

“If you’re a man, you live by what arouses you. That’s what you always say, Greg Barber.”

It was true. Tom Tailor and Greg Barber were both notorious rogues in Coventry.

“Be honest. Haven’t you ever dreamed of burying yourself deep in that soft, supple body?”

Greg clenched his teeth so hard he tasted blood.

“It’s simple. Just push.”

Creak. The wooden shutter opened a crack.

It was exactly noon. A sound escaped between Greg’s teeth.

* * *

Far away, Leofric gripped his chest.

Thud. Thud. His heartbeat pounded up to his skull.

…fric.

…ofric.

…Leofric.

Why? He heard Godiva’s voice—not in his ears, but in his heart.

“Godiva.”

He whispered her name, almost soundlessly.

“Godiva.”

The pain in his chest did not lessen. He clenched his teeth and tightened his hold on the reins.

Laundry flapped violently at a corner. A cobbler’s wooden sign banged in the wind.

Coventry lay before him in full daylight—yet drained of life, nearly colorless. No living soul moved within his sight. Only he and his horse carved a path through the silence.

Contradiction.

He wanted no man to violate her with his eyes, hands, or words. And yet he had forced her into a choice that made such danger possible. The hypocrisy burned—but he would not tolerate it. If even one gaze lingered on her, if even one hand reached, if even one mouth defiled her—his silver eyes flashed with savage light.

Then—

A faint sound in the distance.

Thud. Thud.

His heart lurched again.

Godiva.

The distant figure—it was his wife.

“Damn it.”

The tender words would not come easily, but curses did. She was completely bare. Even from afar, her pale body was visible. Her long, abundant hair veiled her somewhat, but it was heartbreakingly fragile.

His horse snorted.

“Tempest.”

He called the animal softly. The intelligent beast lifted its head.

“Run like a breeze.”

He had no intention of startling her.

“Go.”

Leofric reined in the storm as though it were a gentle wind. His place now was at her side. Whatever came, he would shield her completely.